


My Darling Nightmare

by StrawberrySpaceShip



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Blades, Blood and Violence, Captivity, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Relationship, Horror, Kidnapping, Knives, Non-Explicit Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Possessive Behavior, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sadism, Sexual Violence, Torture, most likely anyway, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-05 08:37:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16364543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawberrySpaceShip/pseuds/StrawberrySpaceShip
Summary: Ending a two year relationship is hard enough. Ending one with your best friend of fifteen years is even harder. So, no, Amelia may not have thought things all the way through when he invited her for dinner. She just wanted to rekindle their friendship. Instead, she wakes up in chains.





	1. Chapter 1

“Luca, please!”

_ Come over tonight, won’t you? _

The knife ran over Amelia’s ankle, splitting only the top layer of skin. Another line added to the others. How many had he made now? Five, ten, a hundred? Each dull sting blended into the next, a slow constant drum. She gasped as the blade scratched up her leg, finding its next target.

_ Amelia stared at the message for her hour to work, and an hour after that, debating what to say. They hadn’t spoken in weeks. Perhaps it would be good. Perhaps she could get her friend back. She took another ten minutes before she could hit send. “Sure. Pick me up after work.” _

“You say that like this is my fault.” Luca hummed, choosing a spot rather high on her thigh. Like it’s his fault. Because to him, it isn’t. She figured that out quickly enough. He saw nothing wrong with what he did. This was his way of scolding her. She made him do it. She earned this terror. Waking up half-naked, chained to an old mattress, able to do nothing but watch as he held a knife over her was a fitting punishment in his head. To him, this all made perfect sense.

_ You shouldn’t have done that, her mind kept yelling at her. Tell him you can’t, you’re busy. You know this won’t end well. Over and over her logical brain scolded yet she didn’t move, wouldn’t. She had to make him understand, get her friend back. Their friendship came before all else. She wouldn’t have broken up with him when she did if it didn’t. She could have tried to make it work, to get back what they lost. But then what if they couldn’t? What if she lost him completely? This was best. This stopped the bleeding. He had to understand that. Maybe that’s why he wanted to meet. Maybe he realized it too. They could move on from this, go back to what they were. _

Amelia scrunched her eyes closed, clenched onto the chains capturing her wrists as her skin caught against the blade. No cut yet, he liked making her wait for it. Fear it. Anticipation proved more effective than the actual pain. The cuts were too shallow, too normal. Discomforting, especially when he made this many, but not as horrible as they could be. Still, rational thought escaped her here. Pain was pain. She couldn’t help but fear. Her leg jolted away from the assault, but his hands held her steady. “Careful.” he chides, “I’ll damage you that way.” Damage, not hurt. No, he wanted her hurt, terrified. It wouldn’t be a punishment otherwise.

_ “You could have waited inside.” he called to her as he pulled up. “it’s freezing out here.” _

_ Amelia shrugged, already smiling as she rushed to get in the car. “I like the cold.” _

_ “Or maybe you’re just that desperate to see me.” _

_ “Arrogant as ever.” she swatted his chest, thankful that awkwardness had not taken them. Ease. She felt completely at ease. Just like she used to. _

“Then, stop this.” She shot back, voice trembling far more than she’d ever admit to. Fear. She had never feared him like this, never known him capable of such things.

_ The atmosphere is already bubbling by the time they get back to his apartment. Separation had done them well. Exactly what she hoped. _

The edge again splits skin. She kicked at him on instinct, but flailing got her nowhere. Flailing just made him angrier. Luca grabbed her other ankle, slamming it back down on the mattress. A grip like that would undoubtedly leave a bruise. “You really aren’t taking this seriously are you?”

_ “Something to eat?” he offered as she settled in. _

_ “Only if you’re cooking.” _

_ “Aren’t I always?” only a fool would turn down a meal he prepared. The man had talent, plain and simple. “I missed this.” _

_ “Yeah,” she smiled to him. “me too.” _

_ “Then why’d you go?” _

Serious. She let out a small scream not entirely caused by the next cut he made. What wasn’t serious about this? He’s lost his mind, Amelia reminded herself, he’s gone absolutely mad. Sense meant nothing. Fighting would win nothing. “Of-of course I am.”

_ Amelia almost dropped the plates she had been setting for them. Oh. So that was why he called her here after all. Fine. Couldn’t he have at least waited until dessert? “You know why.” _

“Li,” he sighed, disappointed. “no, no, no darling.” The tip of the knife dug into her stomach harder than before, message clear. He let the blade sit biting into her skin, not moving it. Not yet. “I don’t think you’re getting it.”

_ “So that’s it then? You’re not even gonna try?” _

_ It broke her heart to answer. He wouldn’t even look up from what he was doing, but she had to put an end to this. To them. They had to move on. “Yes.” she stated as plainly as she could. “Though I imagine that’s not the answer you were hoping for.” _

_ His gaze met hers as he nodded. “No.” he licks his lips. “but I was ready for it.” _

_ “So we’re good?” _

_ “We always are.” _

_ The stress left her in one swoop, and she let herself pour just a bit more wine than normal. “Good, because I think I’d starve without you.” _

Everything had a correct answer with him, that much she had gathered. Choosing the wrong one landed her here in the first place. He had given her a chance to earn forgiveness, to walk out on her own two feet. He gave her a choice then, she just hadn’t known what she was picking. The blade tugged. She screamed this time, a proper expression of pain. Not deep. Never deep. But long, right across her waist. “I’m sorry.” she shouts, not entirely sure what she was to be sorry for. At this point, she was sorry for existing.

_ Giddy. She was absolutely giddy. Maybe the extra glass of wine wasn’t her best idea, but she felt too good to care. The sun had set hours ago, clock struck midnight. She really needed to go. But the smell of freshly baked chocolate cake hung in the air, begging to be devoured, and the conversation had yet to hit another bump. Just for cake, she told him. Then she’d have to leave. _ _  
_

Metal clanked to the ground, loud and sharp. He moved beside her head, cupping her face in his hands. “I know you are, Li. I know.” He kisses her forehead. “I think that’s enough for today.” He whispered, lips still against her skin. “We’ll try again tomorrow.” Try for what? He didn’t give her a chance to ask.

_ Wine, chocolate cake, light as a feather. Full, drowsy, weighed down like lead. Heavy. Her body was light and heavy all at once. A nap. She needed a nap. Her legs wouldn’t move from the chair, but she saw no problem with sleeping here. She slurs out something to him, not sure she was even speaking words anymore as she crossed her arms over the table. Before she could properly place her head, it smacked down against them. Gone. Out. _

Cold filled her as he receded into the darkness, through the door. “Wait!” she called but received no reply. Captive. Alone. Would he come back? Where even was she? She might end up dead down here. Stupid, pathetic, naive.

_ I miss you. _ _  
_

Yeah, no kidding.


	2. Chapter 2

She struggled for hours, tugging and jostling the chains wrapped around her. Metal pinched her skin, dug in tighter the more attempts she made, but that did nothing to deter her. Fighting helped keep her sane, gave her something to focus on. Freedom. Escape. She could get there. She had too. But even surface wounds sting. They tore with every pull or wiggle, kept her efforts far more shallow than Amelia would have liked. Scabbing wounds ripped open time and time again. Drops of fresh blood mingled with old, especially across her stomach. That dull line aggravated with every movement, would not be soothed as easily as the others. Still, she pushed forward, only stopping after unusually loud bangs or rattles. Those moments made her stop breathing, consumed by the fear of him hearing, returning to punish her. Each time, after the moment passed, her thrashing became more desperate. But she was hurt, scared. She could only hold on for so long. 

Eventually, reality took over. How long, her battle went on, Amelia could not say. Long enough to leave her breathing quick and her mind mushy. Long enough that she succumbed to exhaustion, the clarity of her situation. Those chains were not budging. Even without open wounds weakening her, Amelia was no match for solid metal. There was no escape. Her body ached. She might very well die. Luca, someone she had loved, adored, might be the one to end her. And if her current conditions indicated anything, it would not be a pleasant death. Frustration and terror mingled at the thought, at how utterly powerless she was here, until her breathing became too quick. The more she tried to calm it, to control at least that, the more ragged her breaths became. Panic. Panic swooped her into its clutches. Tears formed in her eyes, sprinted down her face in streams, chasing after each other like they couldn’t leave fast enough. Even her tears had more freedom than she. All she could do was flop down on the bed and sob until sleep claimed her. Until her next bout of torment was to begin. Her chains didn’t even allow her a comfortable sleeping position. Didn’t allow her nearly enough give for any sort of soothing. Not that she was able to, anyway.

As the night went on, the cold bit into her deeper and deeper. Instinctively, she curled into herself. Each time, the length of her restraints kept her from the position she craved. Being adorned in nothing but thin undergarments with no cover was miserable enough. In a basement in the middle of winter, he had to be trying to freeze her to death. But just as the chains had been, the cold proved a solid distraction. The cold kept her from exploring her own thoughts, from letting whatever nightmares lingered free. The battle for warmth was nothing compared to what her mind did with darkness. She could fight the forces beyond her even if it was a battle destined to be lost. Her own conjured horrors, though, were another beast altogether.

An inky cloud had shrouded her eyes since he left, took the light with him. Even once she adjusted to it, her surroundings remained vague. No windows could be found here, nothing let any semblance of light in. Was it truly night? Had he left her in the middle of the day? Perhaps he didn’t want her to know. It was a tiny room with doors to others, but she couldn’t even tell how big it was, never mind the building as a whole. How many rooms were beyond hers? She had caught that much, but little else. And in the dark, her mind liked to make monsters out of unfamiliar shadows. Even as a child, she had never been afraid of the dark. But she’d never been captive before either, never had to fear the unknown as she did now. So, her mind told her such awful tales. Threats peaked from every object, and often she couldn’t even tell what they were to dispel her crazy ideas. She couldn’t tell herself it was a mundane object when she didn’t know for sure. Her eyes very well may have been telling her the truth. If this was her night—was it night?—she feared what morning would bring.

Itching, apparently. It brought itching. The cuts stung like a million bugs crawling over her. When one quieted, another burst in to take its place. And the flakes of dried blood? Tight and scratchy, they pulled at every movement. A symphony of discomfort, they begged to be scratched at. Not that Amelia could. Even if she wanted to, even if ripping open the tiny wounds more than she already had wasn’t a bad idea, her hands remained chained above her head. She couldn’t reach them. Instead, she lay squirming, trying to soothe the aggravated skin as best she could. Counterproductive, she knew, but it was all she could do. 

She hadn’t considered this when the blade first sunk in. But, then, she hadn’t considered much at the time. Amelia had been too invested in her current pain to think of the prolonged punishment, consider the torment of such shallow, thin wounds. He had to have left her here knowing what would become of his behavior. He had to know, couldn’t not with how well he knew her. This was just as much her punishment as the knife had been. Hours to stir in her own discomfort. It’ll stop soon, she tried to reassure herself. They weren’t intense wounds, the itch wouldn’t last long. A slip of a razor, these wounds, she’d done that enough times. It’d be over quick, nothing she couldn’t take.

Amelia pulled at her chains, craving a distraction, and let the metal indent her skin. An odd torture, this. So minor, so silly to be concerned with in the grand scheme of her predicament, yet somehow worse than the actual infliction. _Make it stop._

The door clicked. She froze. First came the smell, juicy and divine, eliciting a growl from her starved stomach. Light swarmed the room next, scorched her eyes. She barely had a moment to adjust before footfalls trailed down the steps in time with an all too familiar whistling. Happy, jovial. Like he wasn’t on his way to meet his captive. Like he didn’t keep her in chains, drenched in cold and terror. Then, he was upon her.

“Good morning, love.” He greeted, setting a plate down beside her mattress. The source of that wonderful smell.

She greeted him back, feeling rather silly about it. But, with the way he smiled, it appeared to be the right choice. Right. Because there were right choices now, proper answers, correct actions. And wrong ones. Wrong ones with such terrible consequences. 

“Hungry?” He sat before her, pulling the plate into his lap. “I made your favorite.”

Her eyes locked onto the plate, stomach again growling. Yes, she was hungry, more hungry than she had been in a long while, but she turned her head away, couldn’t say yes. She knew this offering, had gone through this process enough times. His offer to talk, to earn her forgiveness. It would upset him, but she couldn’t do it. This wasn’t a small argument over bills or the dishes. This wasn’t even remotely in the same category of anything he’d ever done. She couldn’t accept it, pretend everything was okay. Resistance was all she had right now, as feeble and idiotic as it was. She needed something, anything to keep her grounded. So, she let her chains rattle. Those chains that would make feeding herself impossible, anyway.   
“But these-”

He shook his head, laughing silently as he pushed the fork to her mouth. “I’ll do it, silly.” Silly. Because everything was okay now. They’d had a little tiff, but it was morning—at least, she thought it was morning—and everything was all better now. 

Her stomach begged her to accept. Hungry. So damn hungry. But her pride kept her still, defiant. Petty.

“Eat.” he nudged at her lips. 

“I’m not hungry.”

“Li. Eat.”

Listen, her mind screamed. Do what he says. “I’m just not hungry.”

“I don’t care.” No, he didn’t give a single thought to what she wanted, wouldn’t have brought her here if he did. Luca frowned, pushed again. “You need to.”

“No.”

So calm. He set the plate down beside him in such an accepting way. Amelia actually thought she won. For all of a breath. Then she was choking on her breakfast. He wrenched her mouth open, slamming her head against the wall, and stuffed the bite of food in. When she caught up to what was happening, gained her bearings, he moved to do it again.

“Okay!.” She shouts through coughs. “Okay, okay, okay. I will.”

And just like that, the cloud passed over as quickly as it arrived. He released her, offered the fork with much more consideration until the plate cleared. The entire time Luca babbled on about something or another. Work, life. The things one would typically share with a partner over breakfast, unfazed by his own outburst. Amelia, however, went ungraced by that ease. A throbbing head earned the newest spot on her list of ailments. She just hoped he’d leave her again soon. That she wouldn’t risk more pain. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, talking over his own train of thought. 

What’s wrong?  _What’s wrong?_

“Nothing.”

“Li.”

“I’m fine.” She even tried for a smile this time though she got more of a grimace.

“Didn’t we just go through this?”

Yes. Yes, they did. And she was making the same mistake twice.

“The cuts.” she tried instead. “They’re all itchy.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” and just like that, back to joy. “I’ll be back.”

He took the plate with him and returned a few minutes later, a cloth and some ointment in hand.

First, he wiped away the blood, careful not to disrupt the scabbed wounds. Then, he rubbed ointment over each of them individually, with a tenderness she believed gone. Each line got special attention, properly rinsed and cared for. And a kiss. He kissed every line, muttered an apology against her skin. Every single time. Occasionally, he stopped to massage her, help release the tension in her muscles. Gentle, intimate, like they were back in their tiny apartment after a long day. Amelia found herself almost relaxed by it. As if the context just didn’t exist anymore. He tended to her with enough love and care that she could forget, just for now, the dangers of the situation. A minute of calm would do her good, get her mind back in order. A fantasy short lived.

It shouldn’t have surprised her, given his current state, that things would not end happily. Just as she finally settled, finally began to lock this moment away from the others, his touch lost innocence.

Strokes became more pointed, skittered over what little covering she had. Threatened to seep underneath. In another time, in that isolated box in her head, she’d welcome it, encourage him. On a physical level, it’d be lying to say there was no desire, no hint of pleasant memory. But that box never completely closed. She was here, in chains, held against her will, and living in fear. Fear of him.

She couldn’t just say no. If refusal over a meal angered him the way it had, Amelia dreaded what this would cause. But he wouldn’t, right? He wouldn’t do that. The more she tried to reason, the less true it felt. He wouldn’t go that far. It’s Luca for god’s sake it’s… a man who took a knife to her for refusing to date him.

No. Amelia realized. She had no bearings, no safety. She had nothing but him. The most twisted version of him. She had to find a delicate way around this. Stop him, but not offend. If she couldn’t, she’d have no choice but to give willingly. Or, at least, pretend to. She had to find a way out. Luckily, she had an excuse to use. A fact she considered in her long night before. Humiliating. Utterly humiliating, but as good of an excuse as any. As embarrassing as it was…

“Lu,” she squeaked out, rattling her chains a bit for emphasis. “I, um, bathroom?”


End file.
